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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889237">Something Good Can Work</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonNoir/pseuds/LittleDarkAge'>LittleDarkAge (NeonNoir)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guardians of Childhood &amp; Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Friendships, Friendship/Love, Gen Z memes and pop culture references galore, I do be reverting to childhood comfort fandoms doe 😳, Is this self-indulgent borderline-ooc nonsense? Yes. Because life is too fucking short., Male-Female Friendship, OC, Original Character(s), Other, Romantic Friendship, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Wholesome Friendship, eventual shipping? but it's gonna take a while, might be cross-posted to FF.net eventually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonNoir/pseuds/LittleDarkAge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(**working title &amp; description**)</p><p>Sadie Mitchell never expected the person that broke into her house to be a mythical creature claiming to be the Boogeyman. Nor did she expect to enjoy the company of the snotty British prick.<br/>(extreme slow burn, so the ship tags don't mean much)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood) &amp; Original Character(s), Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood) &amp; Original Female Character(s), Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Dark Knight Rises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, all! Welcome to Something Good Can Work!</p><p>I haven’t written fanfiction since around freshman year of high school. I’m now multiple years into college. I haven’t written pure prose for a few years as well, having only written nonfiction papers that, well...don’t include dialogue and whatnot.</p><p>In short: I’m very rusty.</p><p>(Also, this is going to be 100% self-indulgent, borderline occ/fanservice content. 2020 has been the worst year of my entire life for a plethora of reasons, and I’m letting myself get back into an old comfort fandom, as a treat.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Burgess, Pennsylvania was a modest town. It had history, with a colonial background that had left a modern-vintage ‘main street’ type of downtown area, with brick buildings clustered together, places that once held apothecaries, taverns, druggists, and metalsmiths now the home of locally-owned cafés, bakeries, and boutiques.</p><p>The old cobblestone roads cut off at the end of the historic downtown square, giving way to asphalt roads and the modern structures that lay beyond the quaint little section of town: grocery stores, gas stations, department stores, banks, restaurants, and more. Modern cars drove past in light traffic, leading from the center of town into the surrounding suburbs,</p><p>However, a very small group of people knew there was more to Burgess than that. What had once been whispers of grandparents’ ghost stories about the icy blue ghost of a boy who drowned in a nearby lake that they had seen in the night as children was more than a simple haunting, but rather a spirit, a real, living being with the powers of winter known as Jack Frost. The children that could see him adored him, praising him for bringing them snowdays and snowball fights all winter long.</p><p>However, not all of the local spirits were benevolent.</p><p>
  <span>In the depths of the forest, there was an odd sight: the remnants of an old bed. It had to have been at least a century old, or it was a very simple homemade frame left to rot for slightly less time. It was made of unfinished wood that had become dull and brittle, most parts either bent, broken, or both. A few coils of rusted metal remained, hinting at a mattress once being there, the rest of its remains long gone, taken by wind and weather— especially in the past few years. For roughly eight years, give or take, the bed had rotted away at record pace. For years, if not decades, it remained in an identical dilapidated condition but quickly fell into further disrepair. None of the locals knew why this was the case, but decided that it must have been a mistaken memory of the bed being in the same state of dismay without change until 2012.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under the rubble of the remains, the ground was slightly darker— in fact, it was a hole. A human-sized rabbithole of sorts, hidden under pieces of wood and metal scraps. Although the intention was to keep the hole in question secret, a few poor souls had fallen prey to in the past almost-decade. One fall, a deer hunter had his trusty hound by his side in the deep woods, only for the canine to catch the scent of an interesting creature that led there, only to fall through and to never be seen again. Another incident involved a gang of teenagers who eventually dared a fellow teenage boy into going into the hole. Unaware of the hole being more of a vertical tunnel than a pit, he was lost to the dark void. The friends panicked, fleeing the scene. The boy was found the next morning, obviously traumatized and walking aimlessly through the woods, speaking in incoherent ramblings about seas of black sand and giant horses attempting to trample him. Rumor had it he was sent away for indefinite in-patient psychiatric care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anything that fell into that bottomless pit of despair either returned broken and traumatized or simply didn’t return at all. Based on the trauma all human victims claimed to have, it was coined “The Boogeyman’s Hole”. Little, did they know, the moniker was actually quite fitting. However, the tall, thin, grey-skinned man with the mythically-acclaimed golden yellow eyes who struck fear into the hearts of both children and adults hadn’t been seen in quite some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Until now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dead of the night, the wood and metal scraps were shoved away by something underneath, a monochromatic hand emerged, black nails digging into the dirt as if the hand’s owner was hanging on for dear life. A few moments later, a second hand appeared, clinging just as desperately. Heavy breathing came from the beginning of the hole before a grunt of one using all their strength, an extremely-thin figure hauling themselves out of the clutches of the dark void inside the tunnel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The being crawled to a nearby tree, laying down on the ground, chest heaving as they attempted to catch their breath. After a few minutes, they gave a chuckle. Then, the chuckle turned into a laugh. Soon enough, the laugh became borderline-hysterical as they regained their strength, standing up and immediately running off, practically giddy because of their newfound freedom from the hole’s abyss.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Pitch Black was back.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Breaking & Entering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me? Projecting onto an original character about current issues? 😳It’s more likely than you think.</p><p>(tw/cw: covid/pandemic mentions. Yep, this takes place in 2020. But don't worry, it won't be pandemic-centric and will end up in the future sooner than later)</p><p>—————————</p><p>Hey, everyone. Sorry this is later than expected: my grandfather passed unexpectedly over the weekend, so I haven’t exactly been in a writing mood. I lost both of my grandfathers in under two months, so this is really hitting me hard. I promise to keep going with this fic, but please be patient as I mourn these horrible losses, try to find grief counseling, etc. I know there’s maybe, like, 3 people reading this at max, but I still don’t wanna disappoint you all and want to keep you in the loop of what’s causing a bit of a roadblock. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pitch ran as fast as his legs could carry him, nearly tripping over himself on multiple occasions as his feet were caught by tree roots, rocks, and other obstacles. There was no destination, just <em> literally anywhere but here </em>. For the first time in eight years, he was free of the oppression and control from his once-allied nightmares. Was he no longer afraid of them, and had overcome his own fears of being forgotten as a force against the children of the world? …no. It was more along the lines of being so done with them that fear propelled him into fight-or-flight mode… and he had chosen a little bit of both, fighting enough off that he was able to make a run for it. It would only be a matter of time until they found him, so he made the choice to make them work for it. He invisibly ran down the streets of historical Burgess, since no one there seemed to believe in him anymore, leaving him as a sad, literally-ghostly shell of his former self. The autumn sun had been setting earlier and earlier by the day, with the last rays of pale twilight fading as the street lights (designed for the historical district to look like old oil lamps) turned on, casting dramatic shadows on anything their light reached. Previously, he would have given a devious laugh before slinking into to shadows and mysteriously vanishing in the darkness, but tonight was no ordinary night— for he sprinted into the darkness, practically skating into the shadows like a baseball player sliding into home base: borderline frantic and with amazing speed.</p><p>One problem: hadn’t exactly <em> picked </em> a place to go, so he chose a random point of exit, appearing in the woods of some unknown place. It looked familiar to the one surrounding his lair-turned-prison, meaning it was a deciduous forest, and <em> that </em>meant he was likely still in North America. The flash of distant headlights piqued his curiosity, following them in hopes of getting a better idea of where he was, and where he could go next. </p><p>After sprinting a few hundred yards, he found that the forest cleared to open grass, which led him to nearly running into a wooden fence surrounding a backyard. Thankfully, he had been able to stop in time, inches away from a head-on collision. He turned both ways, finding himself in a suburban neighborhood of manufactured homes and manicured grass lawns, outdoor lights, and the occasional passing car leaving enough light for him to make out what was nearby. Once he got his bearings, he made a beeline for the house to his right. Nothing else mattered at that moment besides fleeing. Getting as far away as he could as fast as he could. </p><p>For some unknown reason that led his adrenaline-riddled brain to suggest, through some sort of reactionary decision-making process, that breaking into the nearest house and hiding out amongst humans as using them as a sort of cloaking device was the winning choice of action. He agreed with that decision, and skulked towards the house in question.</p>
<hr/><p>“Alright, that should be it for today. I will be seeing you all next week!” The older woman on the screen cheerily remarked before the meeting ended.The cursor immediately went to ‘leave meeting’ upon her goodbye, the laptop being shut afterwards as well. Professor Rutherford was nice, but doing class completely online was a nightmare, and she needed to decompress after that lecture.</p><p>Sarah “Sadie” Mitchell was a pretty average 22-year-old. A college student doing a shit job at trying to be an adult, ending up in pajamas all day and almost exclusively eating microwaved, stereotypical college-kid meals while avoiding obligations by scrolling social media.</p><p>She was not enjoying school anymore, to say the least. Specifically, because it was online. She had been stuck in the house in quarantine for over six months, and every single semblance of her independent college life all became a distant memory. The hall meeting telling them that all students had less than 24 hours to pack was one of the last times she could recall not wearing a mask in public. ‘Packing’ involved tossing items into bags simply to haul them down to the car and shove as much as she could into the back of the family SUV.</p><p>The place where she had first cooked her own ramen— okay, that sounds silly, but it was a big deal for her! Being independent and making something without having the option to rummage through cabinets to find something with less meal-prep time. She had to make do with a hotpot snagged from Bed Bath &amp; Beyond on Black Friday for super cheap, bottled water, and a cup of dry Maruchan. That became the embodiment of her independent life: <em> living in the moment </em>. Spontaneous runs to the convenience store built into the dorm hall across the street for snacks without any nagging about how she had food at home. Riding the last Yellow Line bus from the art building back to her dorm on the other side of campus, listening to the soft sound of the radio filter through the empty bus with her as the only passenger. When Mike, one of the bus drivers, brought his dog on the weekend Red Line to entertain swarms of drunk college kids and not-so-drunk night owls heading home.</p><p>That spontaneous freedom that made her blast a certain playlist of songs that would be a perfect soundtrack to one’s life through her earbuds. <em> Ocean Breathes Salty </em> for early fall semester nights when she could walk home in the sunset, not yet needing a jacket in what were the remnants of the summer heat. Blasting <em> Campus </em> as she speed-walked with her morning coffee to her 3-D Design class to keep her alert and walking at a speedy pace across campus.</p><p>Now, she had a routine. Wake up at any time before 9:30. Eat cereal. Make coffee. Watch some tv, get to work. Or nap. Or do non-school things. In hindsight, the concept of online college education was just a regular summer or winter break with the sudden pangs of fear induced by atychiphobia creeping up on her. Now, there was nothing. No spontaneity, just mundane repetition for the indefinite future. Everything that had made her feel like she had a life reminiscent of a coming-of-age cinematic masterpiece had been ripped away from her— possibly forever, in some aspects. </p><p>After a moment of <em> yet again </em> contemplating her current situation for the nth time that day, the girl let out a defeated sigh. Under the single light at her desk, she switched to a new tab, turning on some background noise while she browsed the internet.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“This week, on Buzzfeed unsolved, we investigate Old Alton Bridge, AKA the Goatman’s Bridge as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?—”</em> </b>
</p>
<hr/><p>Being tormented by nightmares was very helpful with his speed, but not exactly for his balance or overall brute strength. However, the slim spirit was still quite agile, nimbly perching himself on a garbage can in an attempt to gain purchase on the windowsill before trying to get his footing on the hard plastic siding of the home. After a few tries, he managed to succeed, fingers nimbly working to open the window next.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b> <em>“Goatman! I’m dancin’ on your bridge! You better come out and kill me!”</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Holy shit, dude!”</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Is that good?”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thunk. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>“I-I thought you were gonna build your way up–”</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>“No, no, no. Just– right outta the gate.”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thunk. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A single click paused the video, the girl moving her head in an attempt to gauge the location of the sound. A lot of the time it was just some background sound in whatever she was listening to on YouTube for background noise, but some inexplicable deep-seated paranoia in the back of her mind always went <em> ‘What if it was something dangerous?’ </em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thunk-Thunk. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so not the video. Maybe a raccoon got into the neighbor’s trash cans, or that herd of deer came back to torment her family by eating the landscaping.</p><p>As if to answer her silent questions, she heard a grunt, like someone was trying to exert their effort. A definitively <em> human </em> sound.</p><p>“Ohgodohgodohgod–” she muttered to herself, knowing that the only reason someone would be at her window would be to <em> break in </em> . Her blackout curtains gave them the illusion that the room was unoccupied, so… this altercation was going to be <em> quite </em> interesting, to say the <em> absolute least </em>.</p><p>Her mother had given her a metal baseball bat quite some time ago. When her parents were originally splitting up, there was no stereotypical ‘man of the house’ to protect them from any dangerous intruders, amongst other things, so they both armed themselves with blunt objects stationed throughout the house— ranging from a level in the hall closet being just about as heavy as a baseball bat to dousing a hypothetical intruder in the eyes with alcohol-based mouthwash in the bathroom. Although it sounded a bit extreme when fully explained, they definitely weren’t living in fear. Well...the extent that the mother and daughter pair could with the latter having chronic anxiety issues.</p><p>“<em> ohshitohshitohfuckohshit— </em>”</p><p>She fished the bat out from behind the headboard of her nearby bed, plastering herself against the wall so she would remain just out of their field of vision as they crawled in, and <em> then </em> was when she would strike. A hand managed to open the window from the outside, slowly opening it before beginning to crawl inside.</p><p>Before he could even assess his surroundings, he was knocked unconscious by a trusty metal bat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, there you have it! Sadie has been introduced, but you'll get a huge idea of her personality in the next chapter since this one keeps it pretty vague. Please let me know what you think, and happy holidays! :)</p><p>(P.S. If you’re interested, the songs mentioned in this chapter are Ocean Breathes Salty by Modest Mouse, and Campus by Vampire Weekend.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Interrogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Heads up: adult language from here on out in this story. I may or may not swear like a sailor and project it onto my characters on accident 😳)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sound of impact was like that of a gong, reverberating through the hollow bat and into her hands as it hit its target with a satisfying</span>
  <em>
    <span> smack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Pitch’s vision had gone, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitch black</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Although he wasn’t human, a metal baseball bat could do a number on someone— even spirits. He was out cold, unconscious body two thirds of the way into the room. She pulled him in, letting his limp body crumble as he hit the ground. Well, it looks like she was stuck with him until he woke up, at the very least. If she had been sane, she might’ve screamed bloody murder and thrown him out the window he came from, but her adrenaline-rilled body said otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She noted that he was still breathing— good, that means she likely wouldn’t have to be in court for murder in the range of self-defense. However, upon examining him, he became weirder and weirder. First off, he had some sort of extremely-resilient gray face paint over any exposed skin. He was face-down, his slicked-back black hair sticking straight up. She also noticed he was wearing a...onesie? A unitard with a cape? A snuggie-esque cape-dress thing?!? She did a quick frisk of him, finding...absolutely nothing. No gun, no crowbar, not even a knife. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The fuck?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she muttered, not finding a single pocket or even anything besides clothing on his person. Okay, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a robber? If not, he was some sort of addict on a bender of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> who was fucked out of his mind and randomly decided to break into a house with no plan. Either way, he needed to be detained. Thank god there were large zip-ties in the utility closet in the hall. Within a few minutes, the intruder was bound by the hands and feet by multiple zip ties, and was laying on the carpet. She stood above him, bat still at the ready for when he awoke. What else was she supposed to do? Call the cops? Yeah, that’d be great: ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>hi, a Hot Topic manager in cosplay just broke into my house and I beat him within an inch of his life and tied him up like I kidnapped him. Can you come get him?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>About ten minutes later, the spirit began to stir, his eyes slowly opening as he let out a groan of pain, just now feeling his injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wakey-wakey, enter-and-breaky!” she exclaimed loudly with faux sweetness, hitting the end cap against the floor threateningly. He let out a soft moan as the vibration of the floorboards agitated his already-injured body, as well as making his head ache like mad. He was too disoriented to even try to get up and escape, remaining on the floor, face down as the woman decided to monologue. Stereotypical, but it might be the only time in her life she could be the antihero figure she had always enjoyed in comics and other media.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First off, if you’re going to fucking rob me, maybe you should at least wear a </span>
  <b>
    <em>fucking mask</em>
  </b>
  <span>, yeah!?!? You can take the flatscreen and the computer, but at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me keep my health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second off, what gave you the bright idea to go out committing crimes in cosplay as...what I can only assume is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>demon thing from Death Note?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pitch breathed deeply, adjusting to his current situation, although not quite 100% aware that he was hogtied with zip-ties yet, let alone being completely oblivious to the fact that a living adult human was seeing him right then. The silence was palpable as he mustered the energy to speak, head turning slightly to try and get a better look at his assailant before practically hissing his response at her:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>...what the </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>hell</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> are you talking about?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured to his face with the bat. “Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>mask</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fuckface.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“–and an anime everyone and their brother seemed to watch in middle school besides me. But that’s beside the point.” she grumbled in addition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>mask?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his second sentence, Sadie noted that the man was indeed British, sarcastically cooing as she mocked him “Oooooooh! A brit!</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘oight, guv’na</span>
  </em>
  <span>— </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>get on the fucking ground!</em>
  </b>
  <span>” She spat in an attempt to intimidate her captive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Nightmare King scoffed, taking offense and not even the slightest bit afraid of the pain of the bat, more offended than the hit to his pride than any hit to his body. “I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound like that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I’ll give you that.” she shrugged, tone now nonchalant. “You sound more like Francis from Deadpool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and I’m supposed to know who that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he hissed, his annoyance overtaking ‘in pain’ as his most prominent emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman above him smirked, sarcastically replying “Depends: are you currently trying to make mutants out of regular humans in a lab and have recently encountered a man who resembles Ryan Reynolds?” She asked condescendingly before giving him a slap in the side with the bat, lighter than previously, but enough to cause him to make sounds of pain upon impact. He wasn’t afraid of getting hit, but it sure hurt when it happened. He slumped against the ground once more, arms attempting to move before they hit their limit in the makeshift handcuffs, flailing for a few seconds before realizing he had been detained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and because of </span>
  <b>
    <em>covid</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, asshole!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Snarled Sadie, now extremely pissed off by the man’s ignorance. Out of all the types of people who could try to rob her, it just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be an anti-mask covid denier. “Now get the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>out of my house</span>
  </em>
  <span> before this becomes an </span>
  <em>
    <span>aggravated assault </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead of a breaking-and-entering!” She slowly slapped the barrel of the silver bat into the palm of her hand as a semi-silent threat, acting as if she would strike at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies. I’ve been...</span>
  <em>
    <span>preoccupied</span>
  </em>
  <span> for quite some time.” He drawled, causing the girl to glare at him, now seeing that he wanted to be a sarcastic little prick.“So much so that you missed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>global pandemic</span>
  </em>
  <span> that has killed </span>
  <em>
    <span>millions!?!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I fucking doubt it, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, that was it. He concentrated with all his might, using what little of his power that he still had available to free himself. Sadie hadn’t noticed that his expression wasn’t actually  ‘aggressive thinking’, but rather ‘trying to dissolve into nightmare sand and be freed from these mortal-made chains’. Suddenly, the spectre vanished in a small cloud of black...sand? glitter? dust? particles? She couldn’t tell. The zip ties fell to the ground, still secured as if they were still doing their job at containing their catch. The cloud moved besides the ties and in a matter of milliseconds, the man had reformed before her eyes, free of restraints. Pitch stood tall, menacingly quiet and without any sign of wishing to defend himself— as if he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> he would win in a match of strength and wits between the two of them, which made her stomach sink. Sadie stepped back, both hands now wielding the bat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god, please let this just have been a dream—</span>
  </em>
  <span> she </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> have fallen asleep after class and this is one big nightmare where she was actually a badass for once in her life and got killed due to her temporary braveness and accompanying cockines like some Aesop fable about not boasting or being prideful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pitch sensed her fear instantly. God, it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so long</span>
  </em>
  <span> since he had felt such </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> levels of fear from a human, after just shy of a decade in captivity. This was much better than the fear of a child from a dream— this was an adult who was filled to the brim with fear, fear for their </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He inched closer to her, a sinister smile of sharp teeth appearing as he cornered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>“...I’ve been...how do you mortals say it? </span>
  <b>
    <em>‘Living off the grid’.</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Good News: I’ve had inspiration for a TON of chapters! However, I tend to write bits and pieces for different chapters as the inspiration comes to me, and not one chapter at a time. As I type this, the document that contains this fic is currently at 37 PAGES. So if you like the story so far, there’s much more to come! You might not see some of it for a few months or even more, but they’re waiting in the wings, I promise!!!</p><p>Also, school has started back up for me this week, and I’m working on some collaborative art projects with strict due dates, so updates will definitely be slowing down by a LOT. But again: this fic is still very much alive and actively in progress! </p><p> </p><p>(P.S. if you're enjoying this, could you please leave a comment? I'm not fishing for compliments, i swear: it's just that a ton of bad shit has happened in the past week and it would help to know that people are enjoying my stuff and that I actually contribute something worthwhile to this world ^^;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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